London Dawn

by Murray Pura

  He turned. “Ah. How may I help you?”

  A woman in a fine dress with glittering dark eyes smiled. “Please excuse my intrusion. I don’t expect you to remember me, but I am Lady Kate Hall.”

  “Lady Kate Hall! Yes, yes, of course I remember you. What a delightful surprise.”

  “You must wonder what I am doing here since you have always seen me in the company of Lord Tanner Buchanan.”

  “Well, you will most certainly not have come from Germany and Lord Tanner today, hm?”

  “No, not at all. My ship from America docked last night.”

  “Flying the American flag?”

  “Yes. The vessel is registered in the United States.”

  “Any trouble with the U-boats?”

  “None. As I say, the flag was prominently displayed.”

  “That didn’t stop them in the last war. Well, well, how nice to see you, Lady Kate. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I’m sailing for Spain in the morning on another American vessel. I should very much like to speak with you, if I may.”

  “Naturally. There is a lovely tearoom just down the way. Would that do?”

  “So long as we have a quiet corner, my lord.”

  “Most certainly we will. I shall request it.”

  Once in the tearoom, they were seated at a table far from the others. Lady Kate tugged off burgundy gloves that matched her burgundy dress and hat as the waiter set a tray with teacups, cream, sugar, and scones before them.

  “Shall I pour, my dear?” asked Lord Preston.

  “I don’t mind my tea a bit stronger, my lord.”

  “Very good. I’m of the same inclination when it comes to tea. Will you take a scone and some butter in the meantime?”

  “Thank you very much.” Lady Kate slit open her scone with one knife and buttered it with another. “You must wonder what all this is about.”

  “I expect—”

  “I won’t beat around the bush. I cannot abide…simply cannot abide Lord Tanner’s behavior of late. I always knew he had his rough spots, of course, and there was that incident with the Scarborough woman, Lady Caroline—they practically got married!—yet such things were smoothed out and softened by his many kindnesses toward me. But since this silly war started in May, he’s been impossible. I don’t know what I shall do.”

  “I see. We have, of course, known the rough side of his hand on more than one occasion.”

  Her face drooped. She reached across the tabletop and took Lord Preston’s hand.

  “I have forced myself to listen to his broadcasts. Not all of them, but enough. I heard his talk about your grandson James. Talk is not the right word. That he should revel in death and killing…war is bad enough, but that he should glory in it?” Lady Kate picked up the teapot and poured into her cup and Lord Preston’s. It was a dark stream. “I was in America at the time. I fired off a cable. ‘No more of this,’ I told him. ‘Let Goebbels get another barking dog.’ Do you know what he wrote back?”

  “I don’t.”

  “ ‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘Keep your trap shut, go where I tell you to go, and do what I tell you to do. Return to Germany at once.’ ”

  “That’s unpleasant.”

  Lady Kate drained her teacup and refilled it. “More than unpleasant. I was going to break off our relationship then and there. But no, I thought. I won’t do this from ten thousand miles away. That’s not what an American woman does. I will give him a piece of my mind face-to-face, not from behind a telegraph key. So I am on my way to Berlin by way of Spain. But it was imperative I see you first.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He will never apologize. Nor will Goebbels or Herr Hitler. So I must do it on their behalf. Someone must act civilized in an uncivilized time. That’s the sole reason I’m here. To apologize for my fiancé’s behavior. And Germany’s. There was no call for him to broadcast what he did about the deaths of your two grandsons. It was despicable…utterly despicable. I shall tell him that to his face. And I shall add a slap to that face while I’m at it.”

  “Lady Kate.” Lord Preston set down his cup. “I’m grateful for your sympathy, indeed, even your anger. But it was not you who committed the sin. Therefore I do not want the responsibility of atoning for it resting upon your young shoulders. God will deal with Nazi Germany and Lord Tanner in His own good time. We can fight the Heinkels and Messerschmitts in our skies, but we cannot lay a hand on the Buchanans and Hitlers. Not yet.”

  “I can.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will be in Berlin in a few weeks.”

  “Yes, I understand that.”

  “I will add to the slap perhaps…something stronger.”

  “Lady Kate, you will be in Nazi Germany, not New York City. American or not, your neutrality will only protect you so far. I pray you will not do anything rash.”

  For the first time Lady Kate put cream in her tea. After she stirred it, she put the small spoon in her mouth and drew it out slowly.

  “What you consider rash and what I consider rash may be entirely different, Lord Preston,” she said.

  A week after his first leave, Owen popped up again. This time he made his way to where Eva and Charles and their group were helping evacuate families from a row of houses beginning to catch fire from incendiaries. By the time the air raid was over and many of the fires had been put out, Owen’s uniform was scorched and reeked of smoke and oil and tar and burned rubber.

  “Thanks awfully.” Charles shook Owen’s hand, dying flames throwing light on their bodies and faces. “It was grand to have your help.”

  “I didn’t want to waste my leave waiting for you and Eva to show up back at the house. As it is, I gained back five hours of it.”

  A smile moved over Charles’s lips and left. “Best of luck with the other nineteen.”

  A truck dropped them off at Robbie’s townhouse. Victoria and Caroline fussed over them and set out tea and jam.

  “Did any bombs fall near here, Mum?” Charles asked Caroline.

  “No, we were all right. How did it go with you?”

  “The same mess.”

  “Your uniform’s ruined,” Victoria told Owen. “I shall do my best to clean and press it for you, but I’m afraid you’ll catch it when you get back to your naval base tomorrow.”

  “Once I tell them I was doing my bit during an air raid they won’t say a thing, Aunt Vic.”

  “Have you spoken with your mother?”

  “I dropped in on her in the afternoon, about teatime. We spent a couple of hours together and it was great fun. She had all sorts of news about Dad and the Rodney.”

  “Wonderful. Now get out of that uniform. And do a quick sponge bath. All three of you need that.”

  “I won’t have anything to wear,” protested Owen.

  “I bought a robe for your Uncle Kipp,” said Caroline. “Not that he’s ever here to wear it. You can borrow that for now. In the morning you’ll have a brand-new uniform.”

  “Don’t get carried away, Caroline Danforth,” snipped Victoria.

  Owen changed out of his uniform in a water closet that had a sink and a toilet. He used a cloth to wash himself down. There was a rap on the door, and Aunt Victoria’s hand came through a crack holding a navy-blue robe.

  “Thanks, Aunt Vic,” he said, taking it. “It’s the right color, isn’t it?”

  “Just don’t go racing off to save London in it or you shall have to buy Caroline and Kipp a new one.”

  “Right.”

  “Are you done in there?”

  “I am. Be out in half a moment.”

  “Leave your uniform hanging up and I shall collect it in a bit. Eva needs to use the closet now.”

  “Eva? What’s she been doing up till now then?”

  “Letting the gentlemen go first.”

  “Charles has the other water closet? If I’d have known that I’d never have gone in here first.”

  “Well, she’ll be glad you d
id. You were easily the worst of the lot. Did you scrub down your hair?”

  “I did. It’s still soaking.”

  “Come along to the kitchen once you’re out. We have a pot of fresh tea brewing.”

  Owen slipped on the robe, knotted the belt at the waist, glanced at himself in the small mirror while he ran his hand through his wet hair, and stepped out of the closet. Eva was leaning against the wall opposite the door holding pajamas and a robe of her own.

  “Hullo, that’s the same color as my robe,” he said.

  “Fancy that.”

  “You talk more like an English girl all the time.”

  “Do I? Well, there’s a reason for that, isn’t there?”

  “Listen, if I’d have known you’d be the odd man out I’d never have gone into the closet first.”

  “I don’t mind at all—I really don’t. Now I can take all the time I like without feeling guilty.”

  Owen looked up and down the hall and gripped her gently on her arms just below her shoulders. “Don’t waste your time in there.”

  “What?”

  “I like you fine just the way you are. In fact, I find it exciting.”

  “Are you daft? I smell like a sewer and my hair and face are as greasy as motorcar oil.”

  He kissed the side of her neck. “I don’t mind.”

  “You’re mad.” She tried to push him away. “You’ll soil your uncle’s new robe to begin with.”

  “I’ll buy him another. One kiss is worth twenty pounds.”

  “You really are mad. Stop it, Owen.”

  “When I came upon you tonight the fires had started, and the sweat and heat and grime were shining on your face, and there you were saving people’s lives, and I thought, My God, You have given me such a beautiful woman. You were so attractive right at that moment I swore I wouldn’t lay my head on my pillow before I’d kissed you looking the same way you looked then. And that’s the way you look now, isn’t it?”

  Her mouth was half open. “I shouldn’t have let you talk. You always bewitch me when you talk.”

  “It’s true. I’ll never forget that moment with the bombs falling and the houses bursting into flames and your face there, so sweet and so full of strength. I don’t want a clean face to kiss. I don’t want all that beauty scrubbed off. I want this.” His large hands cupped her face and streaks of grease came off on his fingers. His kiss was strong and full.

  “Crazy English boy with the blue eyes and curly dark hair,” she said, returning his kisses. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Nothing that the crazy German girl hasn’t done to me already.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It is.” He pulled her in against his chest. “Heaven knows when I’ll see you again. There won’t be another leave. We’re up to the Orkneys the day after tomorrow. I’m going to the Rodney.”

  “Do you mean it? Are they truly sending you north this time?”

  “They are.”

  “And to your father’s ship?”

  “Astonishing, isn’t it? You’d have thought a clerk would have caught that.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Now that it’s actually happening it all seems rather sudden.”

  “Well, I know what to say, Eva. Don’t spend your time washing your face in the sink. Spend it with me. I’ll take your grime off with my own hands and lips if you must have it gone.”

  She hugged him with a fierce burst of strength. “My love, I do have to clean myself up. I couldn’t possibly go to bed the way I am. A man could, but a woman couldn’t. But since you say you’ll remove my grime with your own hands then let’s see you do it.”

  “I…I don’t have a cloth or water or—”

  “Of course you do.” She tugged him into the water closet, shut the door, and locked it. “This is the perfect place. And here’s the water.”

  She turned on the tap and began to spray him. He shouted for her to stop, but she kept her hand at an angle to the flow so that it squirted all over him. Finally he got an arm around her, pushed her back from the sink, soaked a cloth in the water with his free hand, and began to wipe at the skin around her eyes.

  “Look at that,” he said as she laughed and wrestled with his arm. “I didn’t know you had blue eyes.”

  “No? After all this time?”

  “I thought they were brown. I guess it was the dirt.”

  Eva laughed again, still wrestling. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “What else will I discover?”

  She suddenly kissed him as hard as she could on the lips. “Keep at it and you’ll find out, won’t you?”

  She was asleep at three in the afternoon when Owen left the house. His aunts had done wonders with his uniform, and it had never fit him better. But Eva didn’t see how it looked on him. He kissed her cheek and hair and lips, and she murmured in her dreams. Then he was out the door and headed for the train station.

  “You watch out now,” his Aunt Victoria said. “That girl dotes on you. Your mother does. We all do. You must come back hale and hearty.”

  “I shall if you pray aright.”

  “Oh, we’ll pray aright. You just do your part.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Owen saluted. “I’ll just pop in on Mum on my way to the station. All the best, you two.”

  Caroline lifted her hand in farewell. “So long, sailor.”

  “God bless,” said Victoria, hugging her arms around her in a sudden October gust.

  The vicarage, St. Andrew’s Cross, London

  That afternoon Lord Preston secluded himself in the library at the vicarage and listened to Lord Tanner give his daily broadcast. Lord Preston used the five minutes to pray for his former groundskeeper at the Scottish hunting lodge. He was aware the broadcast would offend Jeremy and Emma, so he kept the volume as low as possible.

  “Ah, my poor friends, allies of Berlin and Marshal Blücher at Waterloo as we fought side by side against the perfidious French, what has possessed you to carry on with this useless struggle? Why not join the Greater German Empire and save the lives of your women and children? Four hundred dead one night. Five hundred another. Handsome architecture ruined. Treasures of the past lost forever. Why? So Churchill can remain in power? Come, come. You cannot stop our bombers. No matter what the RAF does, they get through day after day and night after night. London is in ruins. Liverpool. Coventry. Stop this madness. Link arms with the Third Reich. Think what a wonderful day you could wake up to tomorrow—no bombs, no fires, no death. It’s time to turn the page. You have fought bravely—foolishly, but bravely. Yet you must face the fact that your best pilots are dead. Men like Flying Officers Peter and James Sweet are in their graves, cold and hard and silent as rock while the Luftwaffe is ripe with a victorious spirit and a triumphant will. Why should we kill any more of your pilots? Why should we kill any more of your civilians? Choose today whom you will serve—the rotting old Empire of Churchill or the strong new Empire of Nazi Germany.”

  Lord Preston turned the radio off. There might have been more, but he didn’t have the stomach to listen to it.

  I confess I don’t know how to pray, Lord God. I cannot say I do not wish him taken out of the picture and away from that microphone of his altogether. At the same time I pray for his soul; I pray it may be redeemed. I doubt he wants to be redeemed or even feels that he in any way needs redemption. Yet I pray for him just the same. Silence him and spare him. That is how I shall put it.

  RAF Pickering Green, Kent

  The next day Squadron Leader Sean Hartmann stood in an on-again, off-again drizzle at Pickering Green, tea in one hand and biscuit in the other, and spoke with his squadron.

  “You’ve all done well…very well indeed. With Jerry’s switch in tactics—coming in as high as thirty thousand feet over the Channel, just using Me 109s and Me 110s to attack by day so that every battle is a fighter-to-fighter combat—you’ve had to reach down and come up with your best and you’ve done it. Goering can’t keep this up forever. The wea
ther’s getting more and more miserable. Stick to it a few more weeks and I promise you we’ll have seen an end to the threat of invasion.”

  He sipped his tea before he carried on.

  “So now we’re going up to wait for those sinners at angels two five. That way we can get at them quickly whether they’re flying at thirty thousand feet or twenty thousand. It takes too long for us to scramble after them and climb to high altitude. Once they’ve crossed the Channel they only need seventeen to twenty minutes to reach London. Heaven knows the city takes enough of a beating by night. Let’s see what we can do to make it more bearable for them by day. Mirrors, Quaker, bag us some Hun, will you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Wilkie and Miller said at the same time.

  “Puritan, Viking, you’ve each got two Me 110s. See if you can double that today. Every Jerry out of the air saves a life down below.”

  “I have the synchronization of the flying and the shooting down pat now, I think,” replied Packer, squinting as raindrops spattered against his eyes.

  “Not flying the same old way every time,” added Peterson. “Trying new tricks, new angles of attack, coming in at Jerry with a new slant every time. That seems to help.”

  Sean smiled. “Right. Let’s jump in our kites and get to twenty-five thousand feet quick as we can. We’ll pounce on those Nazi mice like proper British alley cats.”

  As they broke up and moved away to their planes, several of them glanced back at the Officers’ Mess. Kipp was framed in the doorway, one arm free of its cast.

  Seeing him, Sean said to the others, “And keep one eye out for Moby Dick.”

  The vicarage, St. Andrew’s Cross, London

  The next afternoon Lord Preston was again home early from Church House. Emma was out for a visit with Jane. Jeremy was working in his office in the church building. Even though the vicarage was empty, Lord Preston shut the door to the library firmly and kept the volume on the radio as low as he could. Lord Tanner’s words were still clear.

  “I have with me in the studio today my American fiancée. I have asked her to add her voice to mine in an effort to persuade you to end this war against the German people.”

  “I wish my British friends well.” It was Lady Kate Hall’s voice.